Chapter 8
Dear Sirius,
The last couple of weeks have been great for the most part. Ron and I have played Quidditch almost every day, and the Weasleys have been wonderful to me. Hermione came to visit for my birthday. I wish I could visit you, but with Fudge bring so unpredictable, now is probably worse than ever. I'm hoping that I'll get to see you before school starts. Say hi to Professor Lupin for me. I know he's not a professor anymore, but he's still the best Defense Against the Dark Arts professor we ever had.

Even though most of my stay here has been great, the last two days have been a bit more difficult. Last night, there was a raid on a Muggle house, and I somehow saw the whole thing happen, almost like I was watching through someone else's eyes. I must have blacked out, then I had the strangest dream. The next morning, we found out that Mr. Weasley had been fired after the raid. We think Fudge altered his memory, but we still don't know exactly why. Then tonight, while I was in the shower, my scar hurt again. Whatever Voldemort is doing, he's become very active these past few days. I thought you would want to know.

I hope you're taking care of yourself and keeping your head low. Dumbledore is staying in touch, so don't worry about me. I'll be fine. The last thing I want is for you to get caught because of me. Stay safe, and keep your eyes open.
~ Harry

Hedwig hooted softly and held out her leg for Harry to tie the letter. "Just a minute Hedwig. Let me look it over."

Hedwig ruffled her feathers indignantly, but submitted to waiting. Harry leaned his cheek against his hand and read through the letter again. He had decided that the more he belittled the events of the past two days, the more worried Sirius would become. Besides, at this point, the whole world seemed to be on edge over him. Why shouldn't his own godfather join the party?

He sighed and thought back over the evening. He'd finished drying off and dressing as quickly as he could, and had gotten upstairs to Ron's bedroom. He had found Ron seated on the floor, absentmindedly flipping through his Chudley Cannons book. Hermione was sprawled across Ron's bed, reading Voldemort's book. She had immediately snapped the book shut when she saw him, and had jumped up to interrogate him for details about what had happened in the bathroom, with Ron close on her heels.

"There isn't much to tell, Hermione," he had told her. "I was trying to rinse the remainder of Fred and George's prank out of my hair when my scar started to hurt."

"I'm talking about when you smelled smoke. There was obviously no smoke in the house, but you were coughing like you were in a fire. Do you have any explanations?"

Ron snorted. "Of course not, Hermione. He was waiting for you to explain it all."

Hermione landed a swift punch to Ron's arm and turned back to Harry, leaving Ron rubbing his arm and cursing under his breath.

"Not really, Hermione," Harry said, eyeing Ron cautiously. "Ron's right. I really was hoping that you did have an explanation."

Hermione pursed her lips. "Well, honestly, I do have an idea, but it's just a theory really. It could be totally wrong. I'll have no way of knowing until I check it out at the library, and really, we should ask Dumbledore, too. I was hoping to find something about it in that book . . ."

"Hermione!" Ron howled, taking a quick step away from her. "Just tell us!"

"Fine!" she snapped, crossing her arms across her chest. She looked at Harry. "I think it may be a sign that you really do have the Mind Touch."

"No . . . I can't possibly . . . Dumbledore himself said that he hadn't seen a trace of it, and he's been watching me for years. Why now? It just can't be me."

"Well, what better explanation do you have?" she countered. "That someone else with the Mind Touch is sending you subliminal messages? What are the chances of that?"

The conversation had died off. Harry had told them that he was tired and wanted to write a letter to Sirius before he went to bed. Now, sitting at Ron's desk with letter in hand, Hermione's words kept playing themselves over and over in his mind. Every time, his thoughts returned to the face he'd seen in his dream, peering back at him through the Mirror of Erised. It was too wild, too far-fetched, for him to share yet. Besides, what good would it do him? Such things were just dreams.

Dumbledore had said it himself, "It does not do to dwell on dreams, Harry, and forget to live." Since Harry's first encounter with the Mirror of Erised, reality had given him more than enough things to keep him occupied. For now, staying focused on that reality, as harsh as it was, might be enough to keep him, and his friends, alive.

He shuddered, his hand subconsciously moving to the crook of his arm where Wormtail had cut him. Images of Cedric's body and the newly risen Dark Lord danced in front of his eyes. Yes, now was a good time to face reality.

He rolled up the letter that was still lying on the desk in front of him. "Okay, Hedwig. It's ready."

Hedwig hooted happily as he tied the letter to her leg. She gave him an affectionate nip, then soared out the window. Harry sighed as he watched her go. He was closing the curtains behind her when he heard a shrill scream. His heart skipped a beat.

Harry raced to the stairs, nearly colliding with Ginny and Hermione as they spilled out of their room. They tripped over Ron, who had obviously just gotten out of the shower and was trying to tie on a robe as he ran. They heard the twins thundering down the stairs behind them.

They burst into the kitchen to find Mrs. Weasley pale as a ghost, opening and closing her mouth without making a sound. Ron ventured forward. "Mum?"

Mrs. Weasley didn't speak, but raised one hand and pointed at her unique family clock. Almost all of the hands pointed to "home." Mr. Weasley's was on "traveling," but Percy . . . Percy's hand was centered unmistakably on "mortal peril." As much as Percy annoyed everyone, this was not something that anyone had wanted to see, especially in such difficult times, especially with Voldemort.

"Mum?" Ginny choked, walking up behind Mrs. Weasley and grabbing her arm tightly. Ron asked thickly, "When did this happen? Just now?"

Mrs. Weasley shook her head. When she finally spoke, her words were tense and broken. "No . . . must have happened during the party . . . we were being too loud . . . never noticed. Went to see if Arthur was on his way home . . . found this . . . never expected . . . oh, Percy!" She burst into tears, tipping slightly on her feet as she shook.

George rushed to the kitchen table and grabbed the nearest chair, swinging it behind his mother. Ginny and Hermione had Mrs. Weasley sit down, while Ron and Harry stood like Muggle statues, still staring at the clock.

Fred broke the silence with an emotion that nobody had ever expected from him; guilt. "I called him a sell-out. The last thing I called him was a sell-out. I can't believe this."

"He could still be ok, right mum?" Ginny pleaded, starting to cry. "I mean, we don't know for sure, do we?"

Mrs. Weasley had covered her mouth with her apron and hot tears were squeezing from her eyes. "It could only be a Death Eater attack. That's all that ever happens now."

Ron spoke again, "Percy was working late at the Ministry. It couldn't possibly, you don't think . . ."

He was interrupted by a loud chime from the clock. Everyone held his or her breath as Mr. Weasley's hand moved from "traveling" to "home."
Harry said, "I think we're about to find out."

The kitchen door creaked open, and Mr. Weasley walked through, dragging his feet. He met the gazes of his family, and the look of total defeat on his face all but confirmed the worst.

"Arthur, tell me it's not true," Mrs. Weasley sobbed as she rose from her chair and rushed to him. She planted her hands firmly on his shoulders and shook him. Her voice bordered on hysterics, "Please say it's not true! Where's Percy?"

Mr. Weasley reached up and took her hands tightly in his, the anguish he felt was obvious in every movement. He looked into her eyes, which begged him for an answer he couldn't give. Finally, he bowed his head and shook it. Mrs. Weasley gasped, dropping his hands and bringing her hands up to her cheeks. "No, no, no, oh please, no," she stammered.

"I'm sorry Molly. The Ministry . . . it's gone. It was in flames when I arrived. Percy . . ." He choked on the name, then grabbed Mrs. Weasley in a tight embrace.

Ginny was sobbing unabashedly. Fred walked up behind her and placed his hands protectively on her shoulders. George moved to stand by his twin. Hermione finally burst into tears, whirling around and burying her face into Ron's shoulder. Ron automatically wrapped his arms around her, stroking her back as she sobbed, but his eyes were still locked on his parents. Harry stood by himself, torn between sorrow and rage. One more family torn apart by Voldemort. More lives ruined. Now, the Ministry had fallen. The wizard world seemed to be crumbling around him, even in the tiny corners of it that had always felt so safe. There, in the middle of the chaos, stood the Boy Who Lived. Not for the first time, he wished he hadn't.

He dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands. He was so famous for having stopped Voldemort once, but what good had it done? Voldemort was back, and he was completely helpless. He looked back at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, who hadn't moved an inch, still standing in the doorway. As much as Percy had never been his favorite person, he had never thought something like this would happen. He turned to the Weasley's clock. There was no spot that indicated a person was dead. Percy's hand was stuck on "mortal peril," and it showed no sign of moving anytime soon.

Harry circulated the same thoughts around in his head, over and over, until a hand on his shoulder pulled him back to reality. "Are you okay, Harry?" George asked him.

Harry tried to respond, only to find that his throat was too tight to speak. He blinked, and discovered that his eyes had been pouring tears without him noticing. He pulled off his glasses and wiped his face on his sleeve. "Yes, George, I'm fine."

George nodded solemnly. "You're a terrible liar."

The comment actually prompted a strained laugh, which came out sounding more like a cough. "Thanks George. Are you okay?"

George shrugged, then sniffled. He also had tear trails running over his freckled cheeks. "There not much to say. It still doesn't feel quite real." He looked up at the clock for himself. "Now I know why dad refused to have the word 'deceased' put on that thing. I don't think I could handle it right now." Harry nodded in silent agreement.

Mr. Weasley walked past them to the clock. He pulled his wand from his pocket, pointed it at the center of the clock's face, and muttered a charm too softly for anyone else to hear. The hand with Percy's name fell off neatly in his hand. He gripped it tightly to his chest, then turned back to his family. Everyone was watching him now. He took a shuddering breath.

"There's no place for second-guessing everything we could have done, or didn't do. It won't help. This is just one more reason why we need to stick together now."

"Does Dumbledore . . .?" Mrs. Weasley began.

"He already knows, Molly. He got there moments after I did. We were just too late. We tried to track him from Hogwarts, using some of Dumbledore's equipment, but there was no sign of him. There was nothing we could do, there was no way to know. In the meantime," he said, as a glint of fire returned to his eyes, "we're reorganizing and regrouping the Ministry. We have to. Fudge went down with the building, we're sure of it. We'll only have a small window of opportunity to do this right, to gain control of what we have before You-Know-Who tries to strike again. We need to take action, or more lives will be lost." His face dropped again. "We've had more than enough of that."

There was a murmur of agreement from around the kitchen.

"Is there anything we can do, dad?" Ginny squeaked.

Mr. Weasley nodded. "We're going to need to contact some key people from the Ministry, and some others as well. Ginny, will you help your mum send out the letters?"

Ginny pressed her lips together, but she looked resolute. She nodded, then forced a small smile. Harry noted that she was a lot tougher than he gave her credit for.

Mr. Weasley addressed the rest of the room. "The cleanup and recovery effort at the Ministry will start tomorrow morning. We could certainly use extra hands." He lowered his voice. "We'll also need to arrange a memorial for Percy."

"I'll do it," Fred said firmly, causing everyone to turn in surprise. "I owe it to him."

"I'll help," George chimed in.

Mr. Weasley smiled weakly. "Thank you boys."

Hermione made a motion to speak, but suddenly seemed to reconsider.

"What is it, Hermione?" Mr. Weasley encouraged her.

"I was wondering, will Dumbledore be at the cleanup tomorrow?" she asked.

"I don't know. He might be, but he's actually got his hands full with something else right now as well." Something in Mr. Weasley's voice was elusive, and his eyes drifted to the small, black-haired boy standing towards the back of the room. He looked at Harry strangely, almost as though seeing him for the first time. Harry furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, but Mr. Weasley changed the subject. "It's late now, and I think we all need to try and get some rest. We'll need it. Tomorrow's going to be a long day."

Still clutching the hand from the clock, Mr. Weasley led the way out of the kitchen. One by one, everyone followed him up the stairs, Harry leaving the kitchen last. Nobody felt like sleeping, but most everyone opted for a sleeping potion, and one by one, the occupants of the Burrow drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep. All except one, that is. Harry, as usual, wasn't so lucky.
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Through the dark shadows of sleep, vague images slowly emerged. Dark, hooded figures surrounded the house, and one of them had red eyes. He broke through the front door, and panic and chaos filled the house. Screams, struggle, and one of the voices fell silent. There was running, pounding footsteps, pounding heartbeats. Cornered in a small room, ragged breathing, silent tears. The boor blew open, met by the desperate cries of a woman longing to save her child.

"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!" The vicious red eyes blazed with fury and bloodlust, staring deep into the child's green eyes. His voice was cold and cruel as he commanded her to stand aside. Her pleas only grew more frantic. "Not Harry! Please no, take me, kill me instead . . . have mercy."

Voldemort's wand turned on the woman.

Don't kill her! Leave my mum alone! Don't kill my mum . . . mother!!! A brilliant green flash of light flooded the room. . .

And Holly awoke with a start. She moaned softly and rubbed her forehead. She had a splitting headache again. It took her a moment to realize where she was, and it was certainly not her own room, nor even her tent. She was in a grand four-poster bed with rich red curtains. Light was streaming in from the window at a high angle, letting her know immediately that the day was already well underway. She rolled over and reached for her glasses, only to find someone holding them out for her. She saw a long, white beard, and as she settled her glasses over her eyes, the face of Albus Dumbledore came into focus.

"Good morning, Holly. I'd ask if you slept well, but judging by the condition of your blankets, perhaps I should ask if you won the wrestling match with the troll." His eyes twinkled.

Holly looked down at her blankets. Half of them were hopelessly tangled around her legs, and the other half were on the floor. "Oops," she muttered, before realizing that she was sitting in front of the Headmaster of the school, and obviously looking like a fright. She reached up automatically and tried to flatten her hair, which she was certain must be sticking out everywhere.

Dumbledore chuckled at the familiar gesture. "Do you like Gryffindor tower? I had guessed you might enjoy staying here. We have not yet re-labeled the rooms, thus you had no way of knowing, of course," his face broadcast his amusement. "Not only did you find your way into the boys dormitories, but I believe this is Harry's bed."

Holly laughed. "You're kidding me, right? What a hoot." Holly surveyed the room in the bright daylight. She didn't remember too much from when she had arrived in Gryffindor tower last night. Dumbledore had cut short the conversation, saying he needed to research something, and that she obviously needed some rest. She would have argued, but had been interrupted by an enormous yawn.

He had led her to the Gryffindor common room, and told her to make herself comfortable. The dormitories were up the stairs, and he would be sending up something for her to eat in a moment. She had just settled in front of the fire when the most curious creature she had ever seen had appeared, bearing a plate of sandwiches, a flagon of pumpkin juice, and a full set of clean pajamas. He called himself Dobby, and, much to her chagrin, he kept referring to her as "Harry Potter's cousin" until she had practically demanded that he call her Holly. He seemed quite impressed with Harry, so she supposed it couldn't be such a terrible thing.

Holly returned her attention to the present and looked up at Dumbledore mischievously. "So, when am I going to get to meet Harry? I've never had much of a family; I'd love to get to know him."

"Not quite yet, Holly, but you will eventually." Dumbledore smiled at her, then became more somber. "I only came up to check on you because you had slept so long. I wanted to be sure you had recovered from yesterday's ordeal, but now, I have another question for you. What were you just dreaming about?"

Holly looked at him, perplexed. "How did you know I was dreaming?"

"Because not only were you thrashing like a caged hippogriff, you also talk in your sleep."

"I didn't know that. I guess you learn something new everyday," she said, obviously avoiding the subject.

"Holly," Dumbledore said softly. "If you please . . ."

"There's no getting out of this, is there?" she asked with a sigh.

Dumbledore smiled and shook his head. "I already have a fairly good idea about the nature of that dream, but if you please, I would like for you to tell me."

Holly grabbed her pillow and hugged it tightly in front of her. She turned her head and looked out the window as she spoke. "It was another dream like the one I had the night my mum died. It's always just a tiny bit different each time, but I can never really make out the faces, I can never quite remember what people are saying."

"How many people are there?" Dumbledore pressed.

"Well, the man with the red eyes; Voldemort," she began counting off on her fingers. "The second man died first, then the other woman, then my mum." She sat there, staring at her hand with four fingers outstretched. Dumbledore watched her carefully. She closed her eyes, searching for something she felt she should already know. Her mum had tried to save someone, and Holly was sure she had succeeded, but she couldn't see the person anywhere in her memory. Still, he was there. Slowly she uncurled her thumb, making a full count of five.

She muttered to herself, "He was there. I couldn't see him, but he was there. Mum did it, she saved him."

"Saved who, Holly?" Dumbledore asked quickly, but she didn't hear him. She had retreated to the quiet space in the back of her mind, juggling ideas and images, faster and faster. She continued speaking softly, almost as though in a trance. "The other woman died trying to protect him, but mum stopped the curse. Still can't see him . . . somewhere else. I know him from somewhere else. The dream with the mirror, he has green eyes, something on his forehead . . . "

Holly made a sudden connection, and she realized that her small epiphany matched the thoughts of the other occupant of the room. Her eyes snapped open. "You knew," she said sharply. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wasn't certain of it, not completely," Dumbledore said. "I was looking for more clues, but when I heard you calling out in your sleep, I was sure. I wanted to give you a chance to discover it for yourself."

Holly punched the pillow. "That's a pretty tough thing to discover for yourself. Still, it could be worse, I suppose. Now I know what my mum died for, and I know she really didn't die for nothing. She was trying to save my uncle first, but then, when that didn't work, she managed to help my cousin."

"Your whole family has a very special history. In time, you'll learn much more about it. Today, in fact, we will begin working on teaching you what you need to know."

"Really? What exactly is to become of me? I don't know a thing about magic, so am I going to learn about that, too? I really don't have anywhere else to go. After all this, I don't think I could ever truly return home, not for good."

Dumbledore's tone was reassuring. "You may stay here for a couple of days. It's the safest place you could be. After that, we can begin working on a more permanent arrangement, at least until the start of classes."

Holly's eyes widened. "Classes?"

"You are too old to be a student, but under these unique circumstances, you really must begin learning how to be a witch, and there are some things you can only learn properly at Hogwarts. I shall have to determine how we are to accomplish this later." Dumbledore's mouth became a thin frown. "I must also make you aware of the fact that if certain wizards discover the truth about you, you will become a target."

"A target? Me? Why on earth would anyone want to target me?" Holly was astounded.

"Do you remember how I told you that Voldemort disappeared for almost a decade at one point?"

Holly nodded. "You said that he tried to kill a young boy, but the curse bounded back and . . . oh my god. It was Harry." Holly released her grip on her pillow and leaned backwards, propping herself on her hands. Some of the colour drained from her tanned features and her eyes lost focus. One by one, in rapid succession, the last pieces fell into place. When she refocused, Dumbledore spoke again.

"How Harry survived, and how Voldemort fell, has been a mystery for fourteen years. There was always a missing piece of the puzzle, regardless of how carefully we tried to fit it into place." He peered over the edge of his spectacles. "You have just provided the last piece to the largest mystery in the wizard world."

Holly sat back up, once again wrapping her arms around her pillow. "How did I get into this mess?"

"It wasn't an act of your own doing," Dumbledore said solemly. "Nor was it Harry's choice to become involved either. For now, there is little we can do to change the matter, but it is always better to face difficult things on a full stomach. It is nearly lunchtime. Get cleaned up and dressed. I'll have Dobby come for you in an hour. Then, I will explain to you the events that have led up to our current situation. It may take some time, but you need to know. Your road ahead will not be easy, but neither you nor Harry are alone in this battle."

With that, he stood and excused himself from the room. Holly sat still for a moment, rolling things around inside her head. Finally she smirked to herself. "This is too wierd." She untangled her legs from the blankets and went in search of a hot shower.

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Harry's feet sweltered in his sneakers as he climbed over the smouldering pile of rubble that was once the Ministry of Magic. He mentally thanked Charlie for the loan of the dragon-hide gloves, which were the only way it was possible to handle the hot pieces of brick and stone. He looked out over the scene. Mr. Weasley was standing off to the side of the remains of the building with two Ministry officials Harry didn't recognize. They were sorting through the findings and talking quietly amongst themselves. Perhaps they were discussing the future of the Ministry itself.

Ron and Hermione were digging diligently just thirty meters away. Every so often, Hermione would aim her wand at a patch of still-burning wreckage and shoot a small jet of water at it. Charlie Weasley was working nearby as well, and Bill was expected to arrive shortly. Throughout the area, dozens of other witches and wizards were working with their hands and wands, moving debris and hoping to find anything that hadn't been completely destroyed. Even underage witches and wizards had been given permission to use chilling charms and watering spells during the recovery effort. Harry mentally thanked the remaining members of the Ministry for that as he said, "Fieri Alsus," and sent another chilling charm at the bricks under his feet.

Fred and George were conspicuously absent from the scene, taking their promise to Percy's memory very seriously. Perhaps there was more to the twins then they liked to show. They had also promised to come to the Ministry later to assist the recovery effort.

Harry shifted another large piece of concrete and a puff of smoke rose up around him, making his eyes water and his throat burn. He took a step back, trying to fan the smoke away with his hand as he sputtered and coughed. He grabbed his wand and said, "Aquatus Effundo." A jet of water doused the embers and steam displaced the smoke. When it cleared, he finished moving a few more stones and bricks, then began digging through the ashes and debris beneath. He found a cracked safe, containing some charred parchments, then part of a desk. It was yet another office; Harry had found three so far.

He dug through some ash and his hand hit something solid. He pulled out a badly burned, yet still intact book. He dusted off the cover, where part of the title was still legible. "Pref . . . Who . . . ained Pow . . ." Harry remembered that title. He had seen Percy carrying it around back at Hogwarts. Harry's heart sank. He had seen enough death that day. He didn't want to be the one to bring that book to Mr. Weasley. He didn't want to be the one to find Percy, not that he felt there would be much to find. Very few bodies had been found, and the ones that had . . . were hardly recognizable. It had taken a huge toll on the other people working that day, but everyone had stayed strong, supporting each other.

Ironically, in the midst of this mess, one burden seemed to lift itself from him. Seeing the destruction caused by Voldemort, for the first time since the Triwizard Tournament, Harry realized that Cedric's death was not his fault. Cedric had been a casualty in a struggle that was far beyond Harry's personal scope and abilities. Then, like now, Harry had seen the aftermath, and then, like now, he shouldered the task of bringing back signs of the casualties, and sometimes more than just signs. Unlike the incident with Cedric, Harry didn't have to bear this responsibility alone. He looked around and knew he was working with part of a larger team.

After several more minutes of this work, Harry stood upright and wiped the sweat from his brow. He picked up the things he had found, including the book, a smokey and tarnished Head Boy badge, a set of keys, the parchments, someone's pocketwatch, and a slightly melted rubber duck. Slowly, he picked his way back to Mr. Weasley with his findings.

He didn't see the long, wormlike tail sticking out from between two chunks of brick, twitching back and forth. A dull-looking brown rat with a silvery white front paw was also doing his own recovery mission. He chittered and squeaked as he pushed around hot debris and tiny stones with his paws. There was something under there, he was sure of it. He pulled back a piece of charred cloth, revealing something shiny. He pried at it, and a brilliant crystal came loose from the ash. He regarded it for a moment. It was perfectly clean and undamaged. This was certainly a bigger prize than it appeared to be. He took it carefully between his teeth and snuck back to the edge of the woods. His master would be pleased.